nexus_sages | (no subject)

He lofted a brow and tipped his head some, "well wouldn't say we ain't got people try an' destroy the planet, but I'm pickin' up a 'I'm going to just blow the whole rock to bits' vibe from you, that right?"

Interesting life? Sounds like. Maybe she should catch a break and come down his neck of woods. Memphis is fine, keep your head down at night if you're roaming Graceland but that whole reputation is a loaf of crock. The chances of actually getting caught in the cross fire if you're not at all involved with any trouble in the first place is really low.

So in that case it might be best if she didn't know him, but what can you do.

"Unfortunately," she admits. "Or eat it. That happened a few times. After that, all the other stuff is... smaller." Or maybe everyone's in need of therapy. All the therapy. "So, welcome to the Nexus. No matter what your problem is, someone here will put it in perspective."

She's never been far from New York, except that time she got kidnapped to Latveria. Or coming here. Now her travel possibilities are wide open, if you overlook the fact she doesn't legally belong anywhere anymore. She could even manage to keep a lid on the Manhattanite's instinctive sneering at the idea of everywhere else if Southern food is as good as she's heard.

When it comes to making friends, she's got great judgement. She started with the God of Lies after all.

Or eat it, well. He is silent for a moment and chooses to change the subject. Not like he had much else to say. Alright, she comes from a place where the world has been eaten before. That's a thing that Nash can't understand. Why even bother to try? She wasn't there anymore and he wasn't in his world anymore, so that was that.

He chuckled a little at her welcome, "ain't rightly sure perspective is what I need." A break, and then he offered his hand, "Nash."

Ironic that Galactus was stopped with the Ultimate Nullifier, and has now become her conversational Ultimate Nullifier.

"Then you're ahead of the curve." She'll shake his hand like the personable girl she's pretending to be. "Verity. So what is it you need? Redemption, or a good excuse for your mom? Because you can probably find both here, if you're willing."

Verity, that was an interesting name. Never heard that before, but then again who (other than a real Southern family) named their kid Nashville? Suppose they're square on that one.

"Right now, thinkin' I need whiskey." He's not really sure, it's just one of those questions you know? What if he could escape? What if he could leave the family, find a girl, raise a family of his own. Have a farm, live proper. Live without threatening lives or pushing cargo.

Would he even be satisfied? Could he actually live like that? Putting aside the unlikely chance of being able to leave the family. No one can hide from a Thompson.

Oh, he's going to love the story behind her name.

"Mm. I don't have any with me, but there's a decent bar not far from here." Maybe she should start bringing some. She'd need a bigger purse... and people would start thinking she's gone back to trying to drink all her problems away. Maybe not. "Or you could head to the commercial district and see what you can find, but, caveat omnes."

Perfect, there was a chance for her to tell him. He looked down on the coffee she had been carrying and seemed to have abandoned and pushed away the smoke he'd abandoned on his lips.

"You gonna join me?"

Conversation is better than caffeine. She's not quite ready to admit that out loud, but, baby steps. Vices are not conquered in a day.

"If you'd like company, sure." She can even scrounge up a smile for him. Lucky boy. "Before we go, though: make sure you remember where you came in. Even if you can't see a way back, that's usually the best place to start looking for a portal home."

Mm, that was probably a good idea. He took a momentary glance around. He'd been a little dull when first arriving, wandered out without much attention paid, but if memory serves he thinks he's pretty certain whereabout he came from.

Eyes returned to Verity and he unfurled a hand, "after you."

Yeah, she learned that one the hard way. Another story to come out, maybe, later.

She turns when he's ready to go and sets an easy pace. Her stride is purposeful and her posture correct, in the way of someone who has been corrected repeatedly. She walks like a city girl, with that invisible 'don't touch me' aura that lets her navigate crowds without ever quite touching anyone. She can even weave through the crowds to drop her coffee cup in the trash without disrupting anyone's pace.

"So, is 'Nash' short for something?"

Their destination isn't far; it's a couple of blocks worth of walking. Here's a Nexus geography lesson: three right turns do not always return you to your origin point. But this time, it brings them to a nice unassuming bar. A working-class sort of place where a couple young people with tattoos won't be turned away. The neighborhood is best called eclectic: the architecture is Tudor, the cars are mid-20th century, and the people are. Well. They exist, and let's leave it at that for now.

He's already gathered that guarded sort of aura from her. Something of a story behind that too, he'd reckon. Seemed that it was something she wanted to change, though. As far as he could tell. Nash had an easy stride and a comfortable aura around him. He seemed more than approachable, not at all protective about his personal space. the kind of guy more than comfortable to walk with an arm around someone's shoulder, or visa versa.

Nash was interested in the way the Nexus warped around them in an almost nonsensical way, like lives and cities clashed together after everything else collapsed. He still wasn't convinced completely that something hadn't happened. This was a dream or a mid-point between dying and Hell (because he was sure that was where he was going).

Let be what was, though.

"Ah," he chuckled at the question and true to Southern manners he opened the door for her. "Nashville. Nashville James Thompson." Jimmy James when a certain red-haired Texan was mad at him.

He stopped for a moment just inside the door, assessed the music, and hearing that it was a little more classic rock sound decided it was decent enough to stay. then he caught up with her. "Named after a city, how 'bout you. Never heard Verity as a name b'fore."

She's heard about Hell from someone who's been there, repeatedly. He shouldn't accept the idea so easily. But if Hell truly is other people he's not going to have a problem with it. Lucky. She's always been a little envious of people like him, people who're always so happy and comfortable with themselves. More than a little, but not as much these days.

He gets a flash of a smile when he opens the door. She can be a modern feminist and still enjoy people being nice. "Ah. That's a nice name." If his mom is a redhead too, at least he knows what he's in for...

She waits to shrug off her coat until he looks agreeable to staying. "Yes, I've heard of Nashville. I'm not entirely ignorant of the country west of the Hudson," she points out with a smirk. "Ah, that was my dad being clever. I'm Verity after his magic ring and Eloise after my mother. Willis is my grandfather's fault, like most things. Table or bar?"

He would be interested in meeting someone who's been in Hell, but then he'd also be suspicious about it. Who visits hell? As far as Nash understood it, Hell was the place your soul went if it had some real dirt on it. He tipped his head toward the bar and nodded at the tender that spotted them both.

"A whiskey, neat." A nod, they asked if he had a preference and he waved a finger to a bottle. Not that Nash had anything out for good ol' Jack Daniels, but if something nicer was available he wouldn't decline the opportunity.

Worn in boots kicked a stool out some for Verity to sit and he took his own seat. Chin to palm, inked fingers curled idly on his cheek as he observed her. "Magic ring? What's that about?"

And yeah, he knew all about red heads.

Gods have weird travel itineraries. But that's a story for Loki to tell him someday. He tells it better anyway. But the short version is: someone on a mission.

There's never a lack of variety in the Nexus. Half the bottles are probably from brands--or in languages--he's never heard of. It's reasonably safe to assume that a little trial and error will find something he likes. The bartender nods, glances at Verity, and then gets two glasses when she asks for the same.

Ver sits and folds her coat over the empty stool next to her before turning to face him. Legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, she looks like such a lady. Don't worry, the veneer never lasts long. "Ah, well... when my dad was a child, his dad gave him a magic ring to keep him safe. A ring that, when worn, let him see through all lies and illusions. He was told to keep it with him always, but to never wear it too long. Too much truth is a horrible thing. My dad did as he was told. The ring was always with him but rarely worn. I guess he named me after it because he thought he was clever."

There's a brief pause here while she has a sip of her drink. "Not clever enough to notice the hole in his pocket. The ring had fallen out on the floor next to the playpen where I was playing. And you know how babies are with shiny things, right? I swallowed it, mom and dad rushed me to the hospital, and as the doctors were preparing to fish it out they saw it dissolve. The thing with curses is, once you touch the item long enough, you can't get rid of it."

Gods weren't something he knew how to feel about, all things considered. Another matter for another time, maybe. On to more important things, like the whiskey! It was a good whiskey. Went down smooth. He was a little amused to see how she'd take it and slightly more amused by the lady-like posture. Didn't seem to fit her at all.

But Nash listened to her story, pieced together little pieces of her childhoo but the story, he figured, was telling him something more important. She could see through lies, couldn't she? That's what she was getting at? His brows weaved inward.

"So," his fingers housed a few silver rings and they clicked along the glass when he set it down. "Can you lie, or do you just know when someone else is lyin'?"

That must be rough. People lie so often they don't even know it. Hell, he'd probably end up lying to her at some point. Not particularly because he wanted to. Not with malicious intent or anything like that, it's just... you know, sometimes the truth isn't what needs to be said.

Gods are a tricky business. She generally tries not to think about it too much.

The good posture is a combination of her trainer reminding her to hold herself properly and her best friend being a very fancy British boy who's been taking her to meet his family. She's in that awkward phase between remembering to do a thing and being comfortable doing it. She'd like to say nobody's done anything to clean up her language or attitude, but then V will come around and start pouting when she says a bad word and she'll melt.

There are stories, and there are things inside stories; she's only recently begun to see the latter, and she's chuffed she managed to do that properly. "I'm capable of it. It's uncomfortable and I prefer not to." She takes another sip of her whiskey before adding, "I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable."

People keep telling her that sometimes there are good reasons to lie. She doesn't believe them. (This hasn't stopped her from trying, a few times.)

Well, all hope of retaining lady-like manners would certainly get tossed out the window if she ever met the Thompsons. That was for sure. They weren't animals or nothing, they were good folk for the most part (putting aside how they made their real money). They just liked to have fun, drank, danced, sang. The women in his family were far from the meek ladies who crossed their legs and stayed in to clean the dishes. Naw, his Ma and sister could outdrink the boys sometimes.

"It don't, though can't promise I wont slip." because what could she do if she found out the truth about them? Couldn't do much about it here, and probably couldn't do much about it if she wanted to back in his own world. His issue wasnt with what he did. It was with how much he liked it somtimes.

"Figure it ain't nice for you though, if your world's much like mine it's socially inexceptable to be frank most the time. Funny how that works, ainnit?"

Edited 2015-12-13 17:57 (UTC)

Sounds like a good time to her. Although she'd still stay in to do the dishes, because she's something of a neatnik; she can always catch up on the drinking when she's done. And yes, she probably can catch up; her liver's been in training for years. But could they handle having a Manhattan girl around, who thinks breakfast is bagel and lox and who's more inclined to go to brunch on Sunday than to church?

"I don't expect perfection from people," she assures him quickly. It comes up most times when she tells people about this when they're not immediately dismissive. "I'm not going to explode because someone makes a mistake, and if I've been having so bad of a day that I'm likely to lose it on you, you'll know before you open your mouth and can tell me to go home." She tries not to ask for, or expect, much special accommodation.

"Mm, it certainly had its challenges." Thinking about how similar their worlds might be prompts her to look him over again. Maybe it's just a good excuse to look at someone pretty. "You're from America, somewhere in the South I think, post World War Two, and the Allies won?"

If she liked loud, rowdy, huge dinners with a lot of people and possibly a few fights (often more in friendly jest than real brawls), she'd have a fine time. Hah, and well she would likely go to brunch alone but they weren't the type to make a judgement on that kind of thing. Wasn't one of the golden rules to not do God's work (one of the many reasons he was going to Hell)? No skin off their back if she believed or didn't believe. Don't ask Nash about his faith, though, it was a complicated matter.

"Can't rightly say perfection is somethin' I even want in life," he reflected a moment, "where's the fun in that? Our flaws that make us human, and the company we keep help us grow. Well the should," he laughed, "sometimes they just encourage your bad decisions."

Yes, he was a people person, a family kind of guy. Even if he sometimes needed to get away, be alone, clear his head. Weren't it for his guilt over the idea of dragging another person in to their likes, he'd well been married now, have a family. That was the only thing stopping him, probably the oldest in the family not to have a ring on his finger and a little one running around. Lead him to have a bit of a reputation with women, but if that kept people an arms distance and therefore more or less out of harms way than he didn't have much a problem with it. Didn't at all stop a smile from creeping up over his lips when his eyes met hers for a moment.

"Well, reckon that d'pends on who you talk to." He snorted a short laugh, "some folk'd say there's aliens about us, but we ain't seen this great invation or the beginning of the end yet."

Nash finished his drink and streched his legs out a bit, "s'right. Born just outside Memphis, Ma's from Dallas. She's the reason the Thompason farm started breedin' bucking bulls. Had a couple riders in the family, never moved too much into the business 'till she came 'round though. Figure she'd likely still ride if she could." A break, "'side from the eatin' of the world and you chewin' up a cursed ring when you was young, what's your story?"

He couldn't help the slightly amused grin. However strange and crazy his family might be sometimes, he figures it's nowhere near as weird as hers.

Her family has mostly been her and her mom. She's never been to a big rowdy family dinner. How much she enjoyed it would depend on the people. But that's generally the way of big gatherings: the trappings and excuses don't matter as much as the people who show up and the people who don't. She never thought of herself as much of a 'people person' before she came to the Nexus; all of a sudden, people like her, and she doesn't know what to do with that really. It's very much an 'other shoe' situation. She's just waiting for everyone to come to their senses. But it could still be fun while it lasts.

"Sometimes I think the so-called 'bad influences' are actually good because they're helping us get things out of our system. But maybe that's what I need to tell myself to live with being a bad influence." Case in point: she finishes her drink and sets her glass down, nails clinking against the glass when her fingers curl against it. "Are we drinking to think, or to cope?" Either way, she's not judging.

These things do amuse so many people. She can't really imagine life without all of it. At least he's not laughing at her or telling her she must be crazy. "Oh, aside from the curse, I'm pretty boring. I lived on Long Island when I was little. Dad left when I was seven, and then mom and I moved into the city. I lived in Manhattan before I moved here. I don't think we ever had a family business aside from dealing with dangerous magic items, and I made sure I wouldn't have to deal with that. So now I live in a very interesting place and have a very boring job. I guess that evens out."

"It is entirely possible we're drinking 'cause I like a good whiskey," he said, and for the record at the moment that was close enough to the truth. "I ain't too good at hiding a heavy emotion," and that was another blatant truth, if the question was heavy hearted and directly related to recent events he'd be a lot more of a mess. A tidy mess, but a mess.

"But I like your attitude on the matter of poor decision makin'," he laughed.

These little things on his mind were always on his mind, sometimes more than others depending on how long ago he did a job but he'd been down in Dallas with his sister lately doing the boring stuff, logistics. Who's going to be responsible for what when they move away from being suppliers and move in to dealing as well.

"I'm always sorry to hear when folks don't have much a good family," a beat, and a hand moved to excuse his assumption, "well I ain't sayin' your family weren't good. My family's big, see. We're all real close." A beat, "you're welcome to come down or," another moment, "whatever direction it'd be from here."

He smiled, and shrugged. "Sometimes boring is just fine. Half the week I cut hair, other half I do this," hand waved to the bartender. Dismissing the weekend didn't constitute for a lie, did it?

'Maybe' is pretty much her least favorite word, because it circumvents her abilities so neatly. If she's stuck with the curse, she wants, at least, to be able to use it. (And that's usually how superheroes are born; fortunately, she's too much a misanthrope for that.) But it's the sort of sidestep that lets her figure things out for herself like a normal person, and she appreciates that. Her gaze lifts to meet his again, unchallenging and unafraid, before she shifts her attention to the bartender and signals for refills.

It's the laugh that makes her blush. She's not used to making people happy and it always surprises her. This is not a bad thing.

"My dad's a jerk," she admits with a sigh. "Mom did the best she could with a very difficult child." There's a lot more to that, but they just met. Ladies are supposed to maintain an air of mystery, or so she's been told. "Inviting me to come meet your folks already? You are friendly." There's a note of teasing in her voice, but it's the friendly sort. So far, she likes him, and she's seriously considering that offer.

No, omitting the weekend isn't a lie. Not one she can catch. Lies of omission fly right by her unless she can spot the hole in the story for herself. "Do you find it boring? Those sound like good jobs for a people-person like you."

Well, for all their stereotypes, folks from the south are generally friendly. They tend to enjoy life, take things a bit more slow (that included talking), and really saw no reason to close the door on anyone until they provided one. It wasn't a guilty until proven innocent sort of mentality. If there was a seat to fill and food to spare, then spare it. Be good to your neighbor.

"Maybe I just think you're cute," which was half jest, because she was but he didn't mean nothing by it but what it was. He followed it with a playful kick to her stool either way and nodded when the tender asked if he'd like another as well.

"A difficult child, were ya?" It amused him some. "Did you outgrow that or is that yet to come out?"

"Naw, I ain't out for fame or fortune." His eyes flicked over the interior of the bar idly, the strung up lights that it was too early to turn on. Posters lathered across the wall of names he'd never seen before.

Although he did make a pretty penny with his other work, that wasn't why he did it. Well before his father put him in charge of collecting outstanding debt, Nash had a tendency to ramble. It was very rare that he started a fight, but he sure did end them. Which wasn't to say he didn't have his losses. He'd seen a black eye or two before.

"So, what's the boring job then? We can be bland together."

Friendly and neighborly would be a culture shock for her, but that doesn't mean it'd be bad or unwelcome. With a little time to adjust, she could be happy with those sorts of things. Life in the Nexus was sometimes that way, but somehow it'd be different being back in a place like home. Don't ask her to explain, it would end in tears.

She blinks in surprise at the teasing and the playing. Nobody's really done that since Loki died. But a moment later the surprise is replaced with a mischievous look and she unfolds her legs to kick at his stool in turn. "Oh, is that it? Ah, the curse of the pretty girl strikes again. I have to put up with attention from the pretty boy." The absolute horror of it all, really. She's not being sarcastic at all, except for the parts where she is, which is most of it.

A little shrug is the first answer to his question. It's hard to be sure, some days, how much she's outgrown such recent habits. "Think about how much people lie to kids. There was no way I was going to have an easy life." Easier, maybe that would have been possible. Maybe even happy. But she didn't get that and she doesn't like to dwell. "It's easy to be stubborn when I know when I'm right."

She's studying him while he looks around. Some might call it staring; she's so used to being overlooked that she's not always discreet about these things. Anyway, it's his own fault for being so pretty. "Paperwork. Document verification, mostly. A quick and easy job for me, until I have to prove it to someone who doesn't accept the validity of my claims on their own merits."

Well, time would tell whether or not she'd want to come for a visit at some point and whether or not she'd like it there. He had a momentary thought about the stupidity of his invitation, but it was just a natural thing to do that it came out before he could consider anything further on the matter. Not that they talked business at the table, that wasn't it. You know, just in the event that she was by his side when someone nasty came around with a problem.

Anyway, a matter to think about later if she even took up the offer. For now, he was content enough here and felt a pang of pride getting her out from that prim and proper stance she'd been in.

"What a hard life," he commented with his smile hidden behind the glass that he'd rose to his lips.

A sip, and Nash considered. Well, that was true. Seemed like children were lied to the most 'for the better'. Worst time to lie to people, really. Raise your child in a world that didn't really exist. How did that benefit them? Still, he could imagine how much of a pain in the ass that would make a child and it caused him to laugh a little. "Didn't she learn at some point?"

He was not unaware of her stare, but he was also not uncofortable with it. Nash wasn't completely vain, but he didn't suffer from low self esteem or anything of the like. Most of the Thompsons were well cut. Handsome men, pretty girls. His sister, like his mother, had red hair and tanned freckled skin. A tough women that wasn't afraid of the dirt, or giving a hefty backhand to someone that deserved it. Proud of herself, and far from a damsel in distress.

Nash's eyes returned back to Verity, "and what's it you wanna be doin'?"

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The comment in which I cover my lack of knowledge about booze with a cute icon.

No wooorrryyyyy!

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